


Scruffy-Looking Nerf Herder

by Chash



Series: Holiday Fills 2015 [13]
Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Star Wars Fusion, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-19
Updated: 2015-12-19
Packaged: 2018-05-07 15:21:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,704
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5461283
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Chash/pseuds/Chash
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Clarke should have gotten on another ship. Clarke maybe should have just stuck around to die on Hoth, if beings stuck with Bellamy was the alternative.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Scruffy-Looking Nerf Herder

**Author's Note:**

> [lindsayloveslife](lindsayloveslife.tumblr.com) and [treehousesandpoohbears](treehousesandpoohbears.tumblr.com) wanted Star Wars AUs!

Clarke should have found another ship. She should have gotten out earlier, shouldn’t have stubbornly stayed to make sure everyone else was safe and gone before she went herself.

She maybe should have stayed to die on Hoth, if being on the  _Millennium Falcon_  is the alternative.

It actually starts out fine, in that Bellamy is fucking  _frantic_  because Octavia isn’t on the ship with them, and is therefore too distracted to be a dick.

“She made it out,” Clarke assures him.

“According to you,” he snaps.

“You really think I’d lie to you about that?” Clarke snaps back, and Bellamy looks at her with wild eyes for a second, like he might throw a punch, and then slumps back in his seat.

“Where did she go?”

“She hitched a ride with Lincoln and General Kane back to the rendezvous point,” Clarke says, hiding a smile at Bellamy’s scowl. He does not approve of Clarke’s guard’s burgeoning romance with his sister.

“You’re sure?” he finally asks, soft.

“I was there so long because I was making sure everyone got out,” she says. “I put her on the ship myself.”

He lets out his breath, gives her one of his stupid grins. “Thanks, Your Worship.”

“Don’t call me that,” she says, automatic, and just like that, they’re back to being, well,  _them_.

Clarke wants to like Bellamy. He’s a great pilot and an inspiring leader. He’s intelligent and savvy, with a more than healthy amount of cynicism, which Clarke likes in a person. She loves Wells and she’s glad he found her again, but he’s sometimes just a little too optimistic for her. The world needs people like him, and he’s going to do great things, but she can’t help laughing at every one of Bellamy’s wry remarks, because she likes wry remarks.

It would be fine, if he didn’t seem to take it as  _encouragement_. Clarke is busy right now. She has a rebellion to run, and she needs allies, not a flirtation with some arrogant captain who pretends he doesn’t care about anything but his ship and his crew. She doesn’t want or need that kind of distraction.

But it won’t be long to the rendezvous, she reminds herself. They can’t go directly, just to be safe, but only a day. Two, at the most. And it’s not like they’re  _alone_. Bellamy’s copilot, Miller, is around, and Clarke likes him, for all he’s quiet. And Monty ended up with them too. Four people on one large ship. She shouldn’t have to be alone with Bellamy much at all.

Somehow, they’re still the only ones in the cockpit when they suddenly drop out of hyperspace.

“Fuck,” says Bellamy. “Fuck, fuck.”

“I’m going to die in this ship, aren’t I?” Clarke asks, resigned. “I knew as soon as I saw it, this heap of–”

“Don’t say anything you can’t take back,” says Bellamy. “Miller!” he shouts. “Stop flirting and get up here!”

“Why the fuck would I come up there?” Miller yells back. “I’m going to check the hyperdrive, you make sure Imperials aren’t on our ass!”

“Fuck,” Clarke says, and Bellamy grins.

“I love it when you talk dirty.”

“Shut up and tell me what I can do. How do we fix it?”

He looks, for a second, like he’s going say something else unhelpful, but instead he nods, just once, tight. “We need to figure out what the problem is. Miller should have that. I’m going to see what I can do to get us going–somewhere. If we’re lucky, it just needs a kick and some elbow grease. Right now, just keep an eye out. If you see any other ships, yell.”

“And if we’re not lucky?”

Bellamy fiddles with the controls. “Then we’re not going to make it to the rendezvous for a while.” He flashes her a grin. “Don’t worry. The engine’s still working.”

“Thanks, I feel so much better.”

“At least you get to spend some quality time with me,” he says, with the cocky grin that never makes her heart rate spike. Not even a little. Never.

“Maybe I’ll go see if Miller needs help,” she says, making to leave, and Bellamy surprises her by catching her wrist. “Don’t–” she starts, but his expression is earnest, not teasing. 

“Let them be, okay? I can’t remember the last time Miller actually seemed interested in someone. I’m trying to give him and Monty some privacy. If they need help, they’ll ask.”

Clarke opens her mouth and then shuts it, surprised by his appeal. Finally she says, “I thought you were making fun of him.”

“I’m always making fun of him,” says Bellamy. “That’s kind of my thing. But I got the impression Monty liked him too, so, yeah. It’s the least I can do.”

“I assumed it would disgust you,” she admits.

“What about it?” he asks, sounding genuinely baffled.

“You’re Corellian,” she says. “There are still laws against same-sex partnerships on Corellia.”

“Why do you think I left?”

“Honestly, I assumed there was some kind of warrant for your arrest,” she says, and his grin is back. “At least one.”

“That too. But, yeah, Miller and I have been best friends since we were little. When he figured out he preferred guys, he told me, and I made sure to cover for him when–” He shrugs. “Just because it’s illegal doesn’t mean no one does it. We took O and got the hell off that planet as soon we could. I’ve got plenty of  _real_  faults, Princess. Try not to hold shit against me when I don’t deserve it.”

“I’ll do my best,” she says. She pauses but then adds, “I prefer women to men,” just to see what he says.

“Huh,” he says. “Does that mean you don’t like men at all, or just tend to be more into women?”

“The second,” she says.

“What a coincidence, me too. But I’ve still got a chance, right?” he adds, smirking.

“Not on your life,” she says, settling back into the copilot’s seat, trying to ignore the warmth spreading through her chest at his casual acceptance, his own casual  _agreement_. She hasn’t always been so lucky, with such admissions. “But keep dreaming.”

*

“It’s not great,” Miller says, sinking into the third seat on the  _Falcon_ ’s bridge, the one that’s usually Octavia’s. Clarke made to give him the copilot’s chair, but he just waved her off. Honestly, she thinks he’s probably telling himself he’s spending time with Monty to give Bellamy a chance to flirt with Clarke. That seems like the level of emotional honesty they’re working with.

“How bad is not great?”

“I think I can get it rigged up to get us out of–wherever we are now. But it’ll take a couple days, and without some new parts, we’re not going to get all the way to the rendezvous. We need to figure out a safe place to stop.”

“Shit,” says Bellamy, scrubbing his hand over his face. “I guess that’s better than it being totally fried. You need me to help out?”

Miller’s snort is derisive. “Are you kidding? You’re like a fucking mother hen. If you come near us I’m going to throw shit at you until you go away. Monty will actually give me the tools I want instead of acting like he knows his way around the hyperdrive better than I do. Keep us on course and make sure the engine doesn’t shut down.”

“You know I’m the captain, right?” Bellamy asks, but he looks amused. His obvious fondness for his best friend and his sister is one of his more endearing qualities. “I give the orders.”

“Keep telling yourself that,” says Miller, getting up and stretching. “It’s going to be a long couple of days. Make sure we can get a hot meal and a real shower wherever you take us. Monty, you ready?”

Monty throws Clarke a wry smile, which she returns with real warmth. The two of them have known each other for almost as long as Bellamy and Miller have, and she’d be tempted to follow him for a break from Bellamy, but Monty  _does_ seem fond of Miller, and Clarke’s never seen him fond of anyone before.

“Ready,” he says.

At least someone is enjoying this.

And at least Bellamy  _isn’t_  enjoying it anymore. He’s already hunched over the  _Falcon_ ’s controls, checking their location. “How far can I go, Miller?” he asks.

“A sector, maybe two if we’re lucky. The closer the better. Don’t strand me in deep space, Blake.”

“Trust me, I don’t want to be stranded out here any more than you do. Just tell me when we’re ready and I’ll have a destination.”

“Don’t hold your breath.”

Bellamy rubs his face again when they’re gone. There’s stubble on his jaw and he looks exhausted already. “Guess you really hitched a ride on the wrong ship, huh?” he asks, wry.

Clarke has to smile. “Honestly, that’s the closest I’ve heard you come to badmouthing your own ship. There isn’t anywhere safe for us to go in this sector? I didn’t know you were that notorious.”

“That’s not what I’m worried about. We’re going to be pretty late,” he says. “They’ll think you’re dead.”

“They’ll get over it,” Clarke says. “We’re used to losing people. And I’m not dead, so that’ll be a nice surprise when we get back.”

He laughs. “Good attitude.” He clucks his tongue. “How recognizable are you, anyway?”

“Sorry?”

“You’re an Alderaanian princess,” he says. “And a rebel leader. I know where Miller and I are wanted, I don’t know where you’re wanted.”

“Oh,” says Clarke, surprised. She doesn’t generally get to wander around unknown planets; she was a diplomat before this. She went where she was invited. “I’m not actually sure.”

“Well, come over here and take a look,” he says, jerking his head. Clarke pulls the chair forward on its track and leans over the nav display with him. “Anywhere you’ve been wanting to visit?”

“I haven’t been many places out here,” she admits. “I tend to stay in space these days.”

“I guess princesses have people to go on supply runs for them,” Bellamy muses. He worries his lip. “I’d love to take you to Bryysha,” he says, pointing.

“Why?”

“I think you’d like it.”

She can’t help a surprised laugh. “You think I’d  _like it_?” she asks.

“Yeah. It’s not like I do a lot of sight-seeing, but O read about these crystal caves and made us go when we were in the sector. If it wasn’t under imperial control, I’d swing by, but even crystal caves aren’t worth it.”

Clarke swallows past an unwelcome lump in her throat. “You know, people would like you more if you were just nice all the time.”

He flashes her a grin. “Maybe. But I’m not trying to get people to like me, I’m trying to get  _you_  to like me. Besides, I can only be nice for about ten minutes at a time, so it seems kind of pointless to try.”

“I like nice,” Clarke grumbles.

“Not as much as you like interesting,” he says, but he sounds less cocky than just–sure. Clarke wants to bristle, but she can’t deny that he’s right. She does like nice, but–Bellamy  _is_  nice. In his way. He’s just a lot more than that, too. “Oh, awesome, here we go. That should be safe.”

“Which?” she asks.

“Bespin.”

“What’s in Bespin?”

“Finn.”

“Person, place, or thing?”

He turns to her, grinning, and Clarke realizes all at once how close she’s leaning to him, how near her face is to his. She can smell him, sweat and dirt and the lingering scent of snow from Hoth. It would be very easy to lean in, and when she sees his eyes flick to her lips, she’s sure he will. She’s sure he’ll make the first move.

Instead, he says, “Person. Gambling buddy. He’ll help us out.”

She settles back in her chair, putting the distance back between them, telling herself, very firmly, that she’s not disappointed. “You’re sure?”

“Not really. But I think he’s a better bet than an unknown planet. Besides, Cloud City’s great to visit too. You’ll like it.”

“This isn’t a tourist trip,” she says, but she’s smiling. She can’t help it. It doesn’t feel like they’re in immediate danger. It feels like they’re just taking a few days off. And Clarke can’t remember the last time she had a few days off.

“No, but if we’re here anyway,” he says. “You want to come take a look at the engine with me?”

“Why?”

“You’re not doing anything else, I figured you might want to learn about the engine. Sorry if I offended you, Your Highness.”

Clarke scowls. “I thought the engine was fine, that’s all.”

“It is, so far,” he says. “It’s our job to make sure it stays that way.”

*

It’s not as bad as Clarke thought it would be. She and Bellamy spend most of their time in the cockpit, making sure that they’re on course and not in danger. It’s not like Bellamy has the only YT freighter in the galaxy, but the  _Falcon_  is famous enough by now that she’s sure the Imperials are checking all of them, just to be safe.

Mostly, though, it’s quiet, and actually  _boring_  after only a day. Clarke is never anywhere she doesn’t have anything to do–plans to be made, strategies to discuss–and it’s not entirely pleasant.

“How do you not go crazy?” Clarke asks.

“Who says I haven’t?” says Bellamy. “Here, you can read, just keep an eye on the scanner.”

“Read?” she asks, blinking at the data pad he hands her. It’s old and battered, like it’s seen a lot of better days. It’s full of, of all things, historical texts. “Is this yours?” she asks.

“Yeah.”

She scans the titles; she’s read most of them. “Why aren’t you a revolutionary?” she asks.

He groans. “Not this again.”

“I don’t get it. You’re smart. You hate the Empire. You want things to be  _better_. I would have thought you’d be first in line for a rebellion.”

There’s a pause, so he must be really thinking about it. Clarke lets him, pokes through the data pad to see what else she can find. She doesn’t understand Bellamy Blake, but she wants to.

“What was I gonna do for a rebellion, Princess?” he asks, finally. “I’m a smuggler.”

“You’re a great pilot. And you’re  _doing_  things for the rebellion. All you have to do is stay.”

“That’s it, huh?”

“We never have any trouble finding things for you to do, do we?” she asks, voice light, but he’s looking at her, steady.

He wouldn’t just stay for her, she knows. He’s fond of Wells, protective over him. Octavia seems likely to want to join, and if she does, Bellamy will too, just to keep an eye on her. If Miller stays with Monty, that’s everyone Bellamy cares about.

But he’s looking at her like she’s the only one that matters. He probably does that to all the girls.

“Want to come check the engine?” he asks, in lieu of answering.

“You’re really worried about this,” she grumbles, but she follows him anyway. She’s given up on the pretense that she’d rather be alone than with him.

“If the engine does before we get the hyperdrive back, we’re dead in space. Pretty sure you don’t want that, Highness.”

“I have a name,” she says.

“Your Worship.”

“Bellamy.”

“Princess.”

“I don’t even have a planet anymore.”

“Majesty.”

“You don’t actually know my name, do you?” she huffs. “That’s what it is. It’s been so long you’re embarrassed to ask. It’s–”

He stops as they get to the control panel; she wasn’t paying attention, didn’t notice where they were and nearly walks into him. He catches her and smiles, brown eyes warm. She gets drawn in, unavoidably, distracted by the pattern of freckles across his face.

“Clarke,” he says, and leans in, but not  _enough_ , and she realizes he’s not going to kiss her first. He’s going to make her do it.

She tangles her arms around his neck and presses her mouth against his. They’re both sweaty and tired, two days of being on a ship with shoddy cleaning systems and uncomfortable bunks taking their toll, but it’s easy to forget that and settle in, melt against him as he tugs her close and coaxes her mouth open.

She tugs him back so he can press her against the wall, and he groans into the kiss, hikes her up so she can wrap her legs around his waist, and it’s perfect, perfect,  _perfect_ –

“Uh, the, uh–” says Monty, and they pull apart all at once. Clarke can’t drag her eyes away from him to look at Monty, caught on the swell of his mouth and the disbelieving happiness in his eyes. “Miller wanted me to tell you the hyperdrive’s back,” he says, and scuttles off again.

Bellamy doesn’t let go of her for a long moment, looking at her like he’s trying to find an answer. Clarke isn’t sure she even knows the question.

“Ready to go?” he finally asks, stepping away from her.

“Sure,” she says.

He starts to walk away, and Clarke hurries to catch him. After a second, she slides her hand into his, even though it feels almost childish. He’s older than she is by five or six years, and he’s probably flirted with all sorts of women. She’s not the first, and she won’t be the last. He certainly doesn’t want to  _hold her hand_.

But he tightens his fingers around hers and throws her a soft smile, and Clarke lets herself not mind that her heart skips a beat.

*

Cloud City  _is_  beautiful, she has to admit. It’s not the kind of place she’s been before; when she visited other planets, she was brought to conference rooms and, occasionally, famous historical sites or natural wonders. Cloud City is a gas-mining colony that no government official would ever show off. It just happens to also be gorgeous.

“Don’t say I never take you anywhere nice,” Bellamy says, delight clear in his voice when he sees her staring.

“There’s a first time for everything,” Clarke says, absent.

“I’m not sold on this,” says Miller. “You sure Finn isn’t still mad you got the  _Falcon_?”

“Hey, if he didn’t want to lose the ship, he shouldn’t have bet it,” Bellamy says. “How is that my fault?”

“We’re going to get help from someone whose ship you stole?” Monty asks, incredulous.

“I didn’t steal it!” Bellamy protests. “I won it, fair and square. He’s not as good a sabacc player as he thinks she is.” Clarke has to smile, and Bellamy catches it, grins at her. They haven’t really had a chance to talk again, not with everything else going on, but every time he looks at her, she can feel his lips on hers, his body pressed up against her. “I’m sure there are no hard feelings,” he adds, to Miller.

Miller snorts. “Sure there aren’t.”

“Trust me, okay? I’ve got this. And you’re the one who said the hyperdrive couldn’t get us more than a system out. There wasn’t anywhere better to go.”

“I’ve got a bad feeling about this,” Miller mutters, and Bellamy just shakes his head.

“That’s what you always say.”

Bellamy talks them into the city even without much trouble, and Finn is waiting for them when they land, arms crossed over his chest. He does not look happy to see them.

“Missed you too,” Bellamy says, dry.

“You ruined my ship,” he says.

“I ruined  _my_  ship,” he corrects. “You don’t have a ship anymore.”

They stare at each other for another minute, and then Finn’s mouth twitches, and the two of them embrace.

“I have a bad feeling about this too,” Clarke mutters to Miller.

“I knew I liked you for a reason,” Miller mutters back.

“Fucking smugglers,” Finn says.

“We can’t all be legitimate businessmen. Nice place. Very, uh–gassy.”

“Hey Miller,” says Finn.

“Collins,” says Miller. “This is Monty and Clarke.”

“Pleasure,” says Finn, with a cursory nod at Monty before his gaze fixes on Clarke. He takes her hand and kisses it, which is not nearly as charming as he seems to think it is. “A real pleasure,” he says, smiling at her.

“Can we get out of the open?” Bellamy huffs, jaw working like he thinks the whole gentleman routine is actually working for Clarke. “We’re trying to keep a low profile here.”

“On the run again, Blake?” Finn asks him, eyebrows raised. “I wouldn’t want anyone getting a good look at her either,” he adds, like Clarke isn’t even here.

“She’s got a name,” Bellamy snaps, which is rich, coming from him. Not that he’s called her any variation on  _highness_  since they kissed. But still.

“And she wants to get inside,” Clarke says, just as short. “She’s not interested in the two of you comparing the size of your dicks. You can do that just as well without me. Better, even. I just want a bath and a change of clothes.”

Bellamy’s mouth quirks into a smile, and he puts his arm around her shoulder, affectionate without feeling particularly possessive, despite his earlier stupidity. “You heard the lady,” he says. “Let’s see this Cloud City hospitality.”

*

“ _Cloud City hospitality_ ,” Clarke mutters. Bellamy is leaning heavily on her still, even though he’s been unfrozen since before they got to the barge. She suspects he’s just enjoying touching her. “Of all the–”

“You did get a bath and a change of clothes,” he points out. “So at least there’s that.”

“You got frozen in carbonite and sent to a crime lord who wanted to display you as a trophy.”

“Did you punch Finn?”

“Twice.”

He nods, presses his lips against her hair. “Did you tell me you love me?”

“Also twice.”

“Can you two move any faster?” Wells asks. “Raven says they’ll be here in five.”

“Missed you too, kid,” Bellamy says, trying to pat him and missing. “You look badass, by the way.”

Wells snorts. “Thought you were still half blind.”

“Yeah, but only half.”

Wells loops back to help Clarke drag Bellamy, and they pick up Monty, Miller, and Octavia on the way. Octavia gives her brother a look that clearly says  _you are going to get a talking to later_ , and Wells catches it and says, “ _Later_ ,” in what Clarke is already coming to think of as his Jedi-Master voice.

Once they’re all on the ship, Clarke leaves Octavia to tend her brother. Not because she’s nervous or anything, just because Octavia hasn’t seen him since Hoth, and she’s been frantic with worry. She goes to the cockpit to hang out with Wells and Raven instead, trying to get them to fill her in on how they got from Hoth to Cloud City. So far the best she’s gotten in Raven telling her Wells  _used the Force_ , and Wells blushing because he has a very obvious crush.

Not that she can talk. Who knew there was so much romance in rebellions?

“How’s your boyfriend?” Raven asks, like she knows exactly what Clarke is thinking.

“I assume his sister is kicking his ass.” She rubs her eyes. “I’m probably going to try to get some sleep, actually. Wake me up when we get there.”

Raven offers her a smile. “You don’t have to be all doom and gloom all the time, you know. This was a victory. Take it. You did good, enjoy it.”

“I’ll enjoy it when I’m awake,” she says, waving vaguely, and staggers off.

It doesn’t occur to her that she’s been sleeping in Bellamy’s quarters, both out of a general lack of space and because his bunk still smells like him, until she walks in and finds him tugging off his shirt.

“Oh,” she says, mouth going dry. His hair is in tangles and she can see scars on his sides that make her hands itch to trace them. “Sorry, I–”

“Hey,” he says, face lighting up. “I was just going to come find you.” He sits down on the bunk, still shirtless, patting the space next to him when she lingers in the door.

“How are you feeling?” she asks, joining him on the bunk.

“I’ve been saying I needed a nice, long break for years,” he says, and Clarke manages a weak smile. “I’m fine,” he adds, putting his arm around her. “Thanks for coming to rescue me.”

“It was a group effort.” She swallows, lets herself hold onto him. They’d managed to share a quick kiss after she thawed him out, but things went wrong so quickly after she barely got a chance to enjoy it. And she was so _worried_.

Bellamy tugs her into his lap, arms tightening around her. “I can’t believe you only punched Finn twice,” he says.

“Miller pulled me off him. And he did get us out.”

“Good. What else did I miss?”

“Wells and Raven won’t tell me where they went after Hoth, but they were at Cloud City too. Wells lost a hand. His dad is evil. The usual.”

“I can’t leave you guys alone for a minute, can I?”

“You better not,” Clarke says, and he tugs her impossibly closer, like he really isn’t ever going to let go.

“Did I say something charming?”

“When?”

“When you said you loved me. I can’t remember.”

Clarke laughs, a real laugh. “You said you knew. It was very smooth.”

“Good. I wanted to make sure I left a good final impression.”

“Your final impression had better be a lot later.”

“I’ll do my best.” His hand slides up her back. “I love you too.”

She smiles against his neck. “I know.” It still feels like too much, even with the joke, so she pulls back, enough she can look at him. It seems like a good idea until she’s looking at him, and she has to force herself to say, “You need rest, I should go.”

“You should stay,” he says, and leans up to kiss her again, slow and long, as if they have all the time in the world. Clarke feels herself going boneless, sinking into him, all the stress of the weeks of missing him, of wondering if she’d ever see him again, melting away as he lies back in his bunk and pulls her with him, on top of him.

“You really do need to rest,” she says, but she’s pressing closer.

“I’m resting,” he says. “In bed, on my back, my eyes are closed. I’m practically asleep.” He kisses down her jaw. “You’re the one who’s still dressed. You need rest too. You should get out of those clothes and–” Clarke laughs and rolls off him, surprised when he looks hurt. “Seriously, please don’t leave,” he says, surprisingly earnest.

“I’m not,” she says, tugging off her clothes and finding the old shirt of his she’s been wearing to sleep. For lack of anything else to wear, obviously.

His bunk wasn’t really made for two people, so she has no choice but to press in close, flush against him again.

“I never actually heard where we were going,” he murmurs into her hair.

“Rebel base.” She smiles. “I think you’re in the rebellion now.”

“The Empire did freeze me in carbonite,” he says. “So it’s personal. Get some sleep, Clarke. I’m not going anywhere.”

They still have a war to fight, a rebellion to win. Just because he’s back, it doesn’t mean that they’re in the clear. All sorts of things could go wrong. They’re still fugitives. She still has plenty of other responsibilities to take care of.

But it’s not like she could do anything about them right now, even if she wanted to. Right now, he’s here and he loves her and they’re safe. They might even stay safe for the next eight to ten hours, if they’re lucky. 

Clarke buries her face against Bellamy’s collarbone and lets herself believe. Just for now. They can have now.

“Neither am I,” she murmurs, and closes her eyes.


End file.
